So what do sheep dream of?

Posts Tagged ‘high school’

Shia LaBeouf just wouldn’t stop stealing cheese from our high school reunion. Everybody in the dining hall was getting pretty fed up with his antics, so I devised a plan to lure him out. I had our class president announce over the loudspeakers that his mother had just died.

The doors to the back kitchen swung open and he came out moments later, head drooped and tears starting up. I laughed and called out to him, “Hey Ruff LaBeouf! What were you doing with all that cheese, making an airplane?!” The rest of my classmates thought that was a pretty dick move and they proceeded to tell him his mother wasn’t really dead. His frown turned into an indignant scowl and he glared pure hate at me.

I tried to patch things up with him. “Look man, I was joking around. I’d love to eat a cheese plane! If you make me a cheese plane I will eat it.”

He spent the rest of the night trying to design the best cheese plane possible, eventually settling on a flying saucer shaped airplane of cheese for aerodynamic concerns.

As a grizzled veteran soldier of the BLU team, I knew the coming fight would be gritty and intense. My rocket launcher pressed down heavily upon my shoulder. I felt behind my back for my Buff Banner and deployed it to flap in the breeze. The sound of my battle horn echoed off the concrete walls of the RED team’s base and the steel mesh gates before me opened.

I made my way through the narrow corridors, keeping a watchful eye for signs of any RED contact. The hall widened out into a courtyard bordered on one side by a raised concrete platform glowing RED. Lining the walls above the platform were several levels of metal catwalks, each packed with various types of equipment. I spotted two automated sentry guns assembling themselves and counted myself lucky they weren’t ready to fire yet.

Most of the rest of the equipment on the catwalks were amps, speakers, and other audio devices. Aerosmith assaulted my ears from the amps. I grimaced. Mr. Palamino, my high school councilor stood behind me.

“You’ve got to shoot those amps!” he yelled.

I raised my rocket launcher and took aim. With a squeeze of the trigger a large yellow plastic rocket shot forth on compressed air, slamming into the amp and nearly sending it toppling off the catwalk. Upon impact the music changed.

“Yeah!” Palamino exclaimed. “Do it again!”

I fired again, but this time the rocket sailed low, bouncing back off the bottom of the catwalk and sailing back down towards us. Mr. Palamino tried to avoid it but the rocket struck him hard in the chest, sending him reeling backwards to strike his back into a low concrete wall.